


Stay

by senorflamingos



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Dry Humping, Flashbacks, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions Of Past Geralt/Dandelion, Post-Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC), Recovered Memories, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:55:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26061511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/senorflamingos/pseuds/senorflamingos
Summary: Now, sitting at the edge of the cemetery, the stars bright above them, Geralt let himself remember.
Relationships: Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 22
Kudos: 161





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

> written for and betaed by [tania](https://adamoparrish.tumblr.com), who wanted something tender

It wasn’t until it was all over that Geralt let himself remember what came before. It was always there, a longing humming under the surface that was brought into the light of day for one sharp, dazzling moment when Regis turned around, the wound from Dettlaff’s hand already knitting together.

Since then, in their hunt for Dettlaff and Syanna, and in the final moment, when Geralt understood that asking Regis to kill Dettlaff would likely break something inside them both permanently and that he would rather sacrifice himself in the face of that, Geralt had kept everything neatly tucked away in the back of his mind.

Now, sitting at the edge of the cemetery, the stars bright above them, Geralt let himself remember.

-

One of the first memories of Regis that Geralt regained was not the first time they’d met, with Regis proving himself to be both knowledgeable and witty, nor the time he had revealed himself for what he is, calm in the face of Geralt’s veiled fear and righteous anger. It was one of their many moments alone, discussing their mission openly and honestly.

It was weeks after Geralt had accepted Regis’ company in the group as a valuable part of their quest. They were sitting on a fallen log in the darkness, the dying campfire barely visible through the trees, both of them perfectly capable of seeing in the low light.

Regis was telling him a story, waving one hand for emphasis. The details of the story were lost to Geralt, but he remembered, with vivid clarity, the way Regis had dropped a hand to Geralt’s knee, carrying on with his story like Geralt wasn’t suddenly acutely aware of that one point of contact.

Without thinking, he’d reached out to trace a finger down the bony line of Regis’ index finger, all the way to the end of his fingernail, too pointy to be human, obvious in hindsight.

It didn’t register that Regis had stopped talking at Geralt’s motion until a few moments later, when the stillness of the night penetrated through his fascination and stopped him before he could pick up Regis’ hand to feel the pads of Regis’ cold fingers against his own.

Looking up, his eyes found Regis’, already looking at him, almost glowing in the dark, a crooked smile on his face. Geralt had felt something inside his chest tug and then unwind, leaving behind a bewildering soft feeling, like something he knew the vague shape of, but hadn’t ever seen.

Caught off guard and cautious, he had pulled his hand away and gotten up, mumbling something about getting rest and left Regis’ soft “Geralt,” hanging in the air between them.

-

“Lost in thought?”

Geralt looked over at Regis across the fire, at his smile, softened around the edges from the years spent being nothing, and then something again.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

Instead of asking him to elaborate, Regis just passed him the bottle of hooch with a raised eyebrow, a clear indication that he’d let Geralt collect his thoughts, but that they would be revealed by the end of the night regardless.

Geralt took the bottle and the deliberate brush of Regis’ fingers against his own, taking a swig from the former and locking the latter away in his heart. He let his eyes trace the lines of Regis’ face in the low light as the nostalgic taste of the alcohol diverted his mind into another memory.

-

One thing that had haunted him since he first woke up at Kaer Morhen, lost to the world and himself, was a scent. He knew it belonged on someone’s skin, earthy and deep, and it followed him wherever he went. It was in the forests, passing by an ancient tree simmering with power. It was in the dried herbs stored in his satchel, ever-present at his side. It was the raven feather beside his head on the bedroll, a gift from the skies in the night. He knew, somehow, that he’d find it in the hollow of someone’s throat; that he’d know its taste by heart.

His first assumption was that it was tied to the sorceress like so many of the other vices around his heart, but as time passed and he learnt and lost the sweet scent of Triss, and was stopped dead in his tracks next to a lilac bush and knew, without a doubt that _this_ was Yennefer, it was clear that this was something else entirely.

It wasn’t in the way the way Zoltan slung his arm around his shoulders, seated by a sticky table at a dingy inn, and it wasn’t in the sloppy-drunk kisses with Dandelion in a rickety bed along the road somewhere.

The elves came closest, so connected to the forests, with ancient magic singing in their blood. Yet he knew that he hadn’t known them before, and that his closeness to them, to Yaevinn and then Iorveth, was all him, all right now.

He had found the scent again in the memory of a kiss, pressed to a naked collarbone, the herbal scent of Regis still present underneath his clothes, but overtaken by the more unfamiliar and inhuman scent, especially now after a night spent in intimacy.

He had found the scent in a kiss, and clung to it despite the unnamed pain it brought then, and the very real pain it brought once he remembered the end.

-

Geralt took a deep breath, and decided that he wanted this too much, _needed_ it too much to not reach out and grab it with both hands.

He got up and stalked around the fire, Regis’ dark eyes following him. He all but dropped onto Regis’ lap and pushed his face into the side of Regis’ neck, inhaling, both hands clutching Regis’ tunic.

“You,” he said, muffled by skin and fabric.

“Hmm?”

“I’m thinking ’bout you.”

At that, Regis laughed quietly, reaching up to card a hand through Geralt’s hair.

“I was starting to think you didn’t remember.”

“I didn’t, at first,” Geralt replied, squeezing his eyes shut against the hollow memory of missing something that you didn’t even know you’d had.

Regis brought both hands up to frame Geralt’s face, pulling it away just enough to lean his forehead against Geralt’s.

“I’m here,” he said against Geralt’s lips, voice low but firm, and it sounded like _I’m yours_.

Geralt made a small noise in the back of his throat, a whine leaning on desperation, on yearning, on pain and Regis took pity on him, leaning forward to kiss him.

He’d had Regis back in his life for a frighteningly short amount of time, and had carried the memories of him for longer, and as he opened his mouth and let Regis devour him he thought that maybe, this time, he’d have the strength to ask him to stay.

-

Despite all the control that Geralt had found himself willing, wanting, to give up for Regis, it was Geralt who kissed him first, pushed up against a tree in the darkness in some unnamed forest along the way.

He remembered Regis’ bewildered face as he pulled away, clearly pleased but not willing to give in just yet.

“I thought… Dandelion?” he’d said, and Geralt had laughed because of _course_ Regis had heard them, fooling around at the edge of camp the way they’d done since it was just the two of them, comfortable and familiar.

“I, that’s not, we’re not…” Geralt scrunched his face up. “He’s my friend, it’s just a way to… release tension,” he finished vaguely.

“I see.” Regis looked thoughtful for a second, until Geralt growled “kiss me, Regis,” pulling ineffectively at his neck.

Regis had smirked at that, mischief lighting up his face as he flipped them around, lightning fast, shoving Geralt’s back against the tree and hefting his legs up around Regis’ waist, held up by one of Regis’ deceptively strong arms as the other lifted to fist a hand in Geralt’s hair.

He’d fucked Geralt against that tree, and then several other trees like it, until the feeling of his nails dragging across Geralt’s nipples, his fangs leaving little pinprick bruises on the insides of Geralt’s thighs and his hands gripping Geralt’s and holding them down, iron tight, became as natural as breathing.

And yet, despite the feeling in his chest growing in tune with the width of Regis’ smiles around him, it remained physical, his fear of the unknown and the pull of the magic between him and Yennefer too much to resist.

As he watched Regis catch fire and turn to dust, he felt like his heart had been wrenched from his chest, and it seemed inevitable that he should march to his own death not long after.

Regaining his memory and then losing Yennefer had been too much, along with everything else, and he’d tamped it all down, not ready to face the loss of both her and Regis when so much else was still at stake.

-

Now, as Regis kissed him, his hands were gentler around Geralt’s head than they’d ever been, and there was an unasked question in the way he guided Geralt down to the ground, the way he hovered over him, not quite touching aside from slide of their lips.

He stilled when Geralt lifted a hand to his cheek, pulling back and opening his eyes after a pause, as if steeling himself.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Geralt said, running a thumb along the sharp line of Regis’ cheekbone. He didn’t say _ever_ , even if he meant it, didn’t say _I love you_ , even if it was written into the very corners of his soul, didn’t say _please, don’t leave me alone again_.

Regis seemed to understand anyway, softening, letting his body rest between Geralt’s legs, a comforting weight that blocked out all else.

“We’ve been through enough, you and I,” Regis said, leaning down to press a kiss to the scarred skin just beneath Geralt’s eye.

Geralt pulled him back to his lips, opening his mouth and letting Regis take control, asking for it with a soft whimper and his hand moving to the back of Regis’ neck, holding on.

Regis kept kissing him, exploring his mouth like it was the first time, and perhaps it was, in a way. It certainly felt new, even if the scent around him and the feeling of Regis’ bony spine underneath his hand were both familiar.

Eventually, Regis kissed a trail up to his ear, and down his neck, letting his sharp teeth scrape dangerously close to Geralt’s pulse, an echo of a more adventurous time, chuckling when it made Geralt snap his hips up, still.

He pushed aside the shirt Geralt was wearing, mouthing along his collarbone and letting one hand drift down to slip underneath the hem, running a cool trail up his side that only made Geralt run hotter.

“Eager, aren’t we,” he murmured with a smile as he moved up to kiss Geralt’s lips again.

Geralt hadn’t even noticed the way he’d kept pushing his hips up, little motions in search of friction that Regis now answered by rocking his body down to meet Geralt’s.

A full body shudder ran through him at the contact, and he felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as Regis kissed him and gently raked his nails down his side.

Geralt lost track of time, mind adrift and grounded at once, tethered to the feeling of Regis’ lips and tongue and the fingers digging into his hip just above his waistband, but losing himself in the slow drag of their bodies, an unhurried pleasure that spoke of time lost and gained.

When Regis moved his head up to kiss Geralt’s temple where his tears had made a salty trail into his hair, murmuring “I’m here”, and “I love you”, so easily, like the irrevocable truth Geralt knew it to be deep down, Geralt heard a broken moan leave his own mouth and felt his body tightening and releasing in a drawn-out orgasm, and he leaned forward to latch his teeth onto Regis’ throat, grounding himself as much as tasting him.

He heard the surprised noise that left Regis’ mouth and felt the way he tensed, not quite understanding until he felt teeth sink into his own neck, not breaking the skin but holding on through Regis’ own release.

Vaguely, he remembered a late night long ago in front of a fireplace in Toussaint, Regis talking about the significance of biting in vampire couplings, a side-note to a conversation that had been centered, with academic interest, around the human ways of sex.

It felt like a confession in itself when Regis released him and licked the bite, soothing, making low sounds that seemed to vibrate through his entire body. They kept moving against each other, deliberate and slow, a promise for the rest of the night and a reminder that they could take their time, at last.

Regis whispered “thank you” next to his ear, and Geralt laughed, turning his face to kiss him again, feeling his smile against his mouth.

“Love you too, Emiel Regis.”

“Mmm. Let me take you to bed.”

“What’s wrong with right here?”

Regis pulled back to give him a dry look, and before Geralt had time to school his face into an innocent mask he was scooped up and carried off towards the crypt.

As he stretched out like a cat on the cot where he’d been unceremoniously dumped, watching Regis’ eyes glint in the candlelight when he straightened up from divesting himself of several layers of clothing, he recognised the feeling in his chest as _peace_ , a love held and returned.

It seemed so easy now, after everything, to grab one of Regis’ hands and pull him down, Geralt laughing helplessly as he turned to smoke and dragged Geralt’s hands one by one above his head before materialising above him, teeth bared and eyebrows pulled together in a mock scowl. Regis leaned down to kiss his neck, the inside of his upper arm, his cheek, his lips, each one a promise, because they had time. Finally, _finally_ , they had time.

  
  



End file.
